Tofurkey
by Darkling Imp
Summary: Matt has a nightmare the likes of which only Matt can have. Set after EBF2.


It was hard for Matt to believe that he was living under a roof again.

After years of scrounging around an apocalypse-ravaged world, fighting off monsters and trying not to get himself killed, the dull monotany of civilization was a welcome change of pace. The windows could have done without the frilly blue-and-white lace curtains, but oh well; a guy couldn't get everything he wanted.

Right now? All he wanted a sandwich.

His mouth watered at the idea. He was in a house, with a working refrigerator! While he loved battering and roasting a fresh kill over an open spit, there was just something to be said about good ol' prepackaged luncheon meat. Maybe he'd add a few strips of bacon, slather it between two thick slices of ham and dump on some of that canned meat spread for good measure. Matt really didn't know what all was in that ground-up mass of muscle and guts, but it was meat! The food of manly men!

Matt made his way across the smooth, polished floors and past walls painted a pristine white. The atmosphere was so crisp and clean that it was nauseating. Everything was in its place, neat little trinkets placed on perfectly level shelves along the hallway. There were even lacey doilies on a coffee table, on top of which sat photographs of Matt, Natalie, Lance, and their pet/ally No-Legs the Cat.

Strange, too, was the photo of Natalie and Lance alone. Natz was standing flush again the gunslinger with one of Lance's arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Instead of looking utterly flabbergasted or smacking Lance with a staff, Natz looked...content. Like she was _happy_ to be there. Considering how Natalie often flew into a rage at the many times she caught Lance staring at her ample chest, Matt was surprised the physical contact hadn't made her explode into a devastation-wrecking banshee.

_I guess that's what happens when you "settle down"_, Matt reasoned. How and when his two teammates had gotten together, he could not recall. _Oh, well_. Matt shrugged it off and continued toward the kitchen.

He quickly found that someone else had the same idea as he.

"Hey, bro," Matt called out cheerfully, throwing up a hand in greeting. Lance was sitting at the counter, munching on some sort of sandwich. He gave an upwards nod of his head as he saw Matt step into the room, and then returned his focus to the magazine in front of him. "That any good?"

Lance swallowed. "The food or the mag?"

"Either."

Lance shrugged. _About as good as could be expected_, Matt guessed. Lance was probably dying inside from all this domestic tranquility. No reason to call missile strikes, no tanks to have dropped from outer space, nothing to shoot-

Matt blinked.

_That's really weird_, he thought, eyeing his friend's profile. _Lance without his guns?_ A shiver went up his spine.

"Are you alright?"

Lance quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah, why?"

Matt pointed toward his hip. Lance looked down. He didn't seem to notice anything out of place. "Where's your gun?"

"Hanging up," Lance told him. "There's nothing to fight around here and no use wasting ammo."

Matt shrugged to himself. It was a very Lance-like answer. Even though it was about as odd to see Lance without his trademark weapons as it was to stop seeing the color red, Matt let the thought slide as his stomach gurgled loudly.

_Right. Lunch._

He walked over to that heavenly creation known as a refrigerator opened it up, and…

…Was sorely disappointing to look into the fridge and see next to nothing edible. At least, that's what Matt saw. In truth, the fridge was well stocked with a plethora of fresh fruits, vegetables, juices, and a large pitcher of what looked like green vomit.

"What the heck is this?" Matt hefted the container for Lance to see.

"Wheatgrass juice."

Matt made a face and put the pitcher back. "The nasty concoctions that Natz comes up with…"

Lance nodded. "She said it helps with metabolism."

Matt rolled his eyes. Women and their weight issues! He turned back to the more pressing matter.

"Where's all the meat, man?"

"We're out."

A manly tear gathered in the corner of one of Matt's eyes. How could they be out of meat? This was civilization, for crying out loud! Man could not live on rabbit food alone! He eyed Lance's sandwich.

"You couldn't even save me some, bro? Not cool!"

Lance mumbled something as he took another bite and turned away. Matt cocked his head to the side. Surely, he didn't hear what he thought he heard.

"Heh, for a moment there, I thought you said it wasn't meat."

Lance was quiet.

_Too _quiet. He kept right on chewing as Matt, more than a little nervous now, slunk over to where the gunslinger was sitting.

That's when he saw..._it_.

Sitting on top of the wastebasket was a crumpled plastic container with a white-and-red label. Curious, Matt picked it up and read the contents. A second later, he dashed it from his hand as if he had picked up a hot coal, and then whirled around, horrified to the extreme, and pointed a shaking finger at Lance.

"You're eating _tofurkey?!_"

Lance swallowed heavily, not looking up from his magazine. "Yeah. So?"

Matt gawked.

"So? _So?_" He grabbed Lance by the shirt and turned him around. "You've gone off your bleeding trolley! Who are you and where are the aliens who took Lance?"

Lance simply swatted Matt's hands away. "I told you, Natz is helping me with my metabolic rate. It's hard keeping fit here in civilization. No monsters to kill, no running for your life-"

Matt's mind shut down on the second syllable of "metabolic". Hands trembling furiously, eyes widened to the aching point, blood completely drained from his face, Matt stared at Lance. It took several moments to register, but slowly, he put the pieces together:

The photograph of a placid Natalie and Lance.

The absence of Lance's guns.

The blasphemous soy by-product masquerading as meat.

Matt saw through the pathetic excuse for what it really was. "Holy mother of Godcat!" He slapped his forehead. "She's got you whipped!"

Lance said nothing. Matt promptly freaked, grabbed the sandwich and flung the Wretched Abomination of Meatkind across the room. He shouted in Lance's face, shaking the gunslinger bodily in hopes that his panicked wisdom could reach the real Lance trapped deep down under the crushing oppression of his woman's wiles.

"Come back to your senses, Lance! There's still time! All I have to do is go track down a rabbit or some other bite-sized creature, force-feed it to you, and you'll be back to normal! Don't let the bro be sucked out of you! I don't want to see what happens when Natz stuffs you in an apron and makes you clean-"

The calm and not-at-all insulted expression on Lance's face spoke volumes.

Matt screamed.

Back in the cave, the embers of a dying fire flickered and popped. Lance stood -or rather, sat sentry on a large boulder, a modified automatic rifle laid across his lap. Natalie was trying to lull herself to sleep through the mindless ministrations of stroking No-Legs' fur. The paraplegic-yet-somehow-still-able-to-wield-sword-a nd-shield feline curled contently by her side.

It was a peaceful, clear night and the first real break they had had from the legions of monsters prowling the swamp below. Their cavernous sanctuary was located high above the wandering fray on the side of a steep cliff face. Still, one could not be too cautious when in enemy territory…

A bloodcurdling scream pierced the night as Matt shot awake.

Lance nearly fell over the rock and blew Matt away in the same movement. Natalie , echoing Matt's scream, leapt up, got tangled in her bedroll and nearly squished No-Legs when she came crashing back to the cave floor. The little cat barely managed to get out of the way. His fur stood on end.

"Dear God, what is the matter with him?" Lance rasped loudly, more to himself than anyone else. Both Natz and Lance careful inched their way toward their frightened friend. Matt started to babble, his knees drawn to his chest.

"To...to...to..."

"'Toto'?" Natz said, eyebrow raised quizzically. Lance poked Matt with the butt of his gun.

"Belt up, Dorothy. You're going to wake every monster in the swamp at this rate!"

The moment Matt registered Lance's voice, the swordsman, his face a mask of panic and fright, leapt to his feet and grabbed Lance so quickly and strongly by the front of his shirt that he nearly lifted the gunslinger off the ground. Lance balked.

"Dude, what the heck? You don't grab someone holding a loaded gun!"

Matt was panicking too hard to register the comment.

"Tofurkey," he whispered.

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

Matt started shaking him. "Lance, if ever there was any sense in you whatsoever, tell me: what can man not live without?"

"Uh, enough ammo?"

A twinge of relief passed over Matt. "And would you ever partake of a horrible blasphemous soy by-product wishing it was meat?"

Now Lance stood still, sure Matt had lost his mind. He saw Natalie was just as bewildered as he was.

"Matt," the mage said, "what is wrong with you?"

Matt turned toward her and snapped, "You stay out of this, you...you...you 'bro-whipper', you!" Natalie clasped her hands on her staff, exchanged a shrug of shoulders with No-Legs, and then looked back to Lance. _You want me to zap him?_ said her annoyed expression and one comically raised eyebrow. Lance motioned lightly with one hand. _Not yet_.

The swordsman turned back to Lance. "Matt, for God's sake, what are you talking about?"

Matt pulled Lance up until they were nose-to-nose. "_Tofurkey_," he said in as menacing a tone as he could muster.

Lance finally realized what was going on: Matt had a nightmare. Unfortunately, Matt also didn't seem to have awakened fully and his screaming was likely to alert every monster within a hundred miles. Lance made a slight motion with his fingers and the shimmering blast of one of Natalie's spells hit Matt square in the back of the head. Matt's feet crumbled out from under him, nearly taking the gunslinger down with him as he fell. Lance pulled himself away from the sleeping swordsman, hefted his rifle to his shoulder and stepped back, shaking his head. Natz threw her hands up in frustration.

"Of all the things to have a nightmare about, he dreams of _tofurkey!_" Natz sighed and settled back into her bedroll. "That is the last time we let Matt eat a slime."

A very weary and frustrated Lance heartily agreed.

**DARKLING IMP: Random one-shot I thought up at work. For some reason, I can see Matt going completely nuts if he both ran out of meat and felt like his stabbing/shooting-things buddy went soft. Also, for those of you who don't know, "tofurkey" is a type of turkey substitute made form tofu, a form of congealed soybean curd.**


End file.
